


Under the Passing Stars

by Esteliel



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's hand rested on his chest, heavy and warm. Above them in the blackness of their room, the stars gleamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Passing Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellow_ferrari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_ferrari/gifts).



> Thank you so much to Ally for the beta help! :)

Nightingale watched as Peter stretched with a sound of tired satisfaction. Then Peter rested his head against his shoulder, the lean body smooth and slick with sweat as Peter moulded himself to his side. He had taken note of the moment of hesitation before Peter had come to rest against him, and to Nightingale’s surprise, he found that a wave of warm, pleased relief followed when Peter didn't get up to return to his own room.

This had happened before. It had, in fact, happened several times – but never had they done it here in his own bedroom. Never had they fallen asleep together. There had been an invisible line they had both hesitated to cross. That line was when folly would turn into impropriety, accident into unprofessional conduct.

But now that it had happened, a tension within him had gone. He had not even known that it was there, until suddenly, with the weight of Peter's body to anchor him, his muscles relaxed, and he exhaled slowly. It felt right.

Peter was very warm, and his body was heavy with exhaustion as he curled against him. Peter's breath was hot and still came in quick shudders, and his come was sticky on his fingers. Nightingale thought of licking it from his hand. He was perhaps inordinately fond of blowing Peter, he admitted to himself in a moment of self-deprecating amusement. Still, the thought of Peter watching as he tasted him on his fingers brought a new wave of heat, and with it the temptation to stir Peter to excitement once more, as well as a hint of embarrassment. Sleep with a beautiful young man half your age – no, he thought, interrupting himself. It was closer now to one fifth his age. It would not do to forget that.

He sighed silently. The thought of Peter ageing while he would not was sobering enough that the unrelenting desire that had to belong to a younger man receded once more. And yet, there was his truth: sleep with a beautiful young man, and turn into a teenager once more yourself. 

He could not regret any of it. Not when Peter took a deep breath, released it in a huff of hot air against his chest, then moved so that his short, cropped hair tickled his bare throat, and he couldn't help but move and wrap one arm around him. 

Peter's skin was still damp with sweat. When Nightingale gently stroked along his shoulder, Peter shuddered a sigh against his skin, eyes warm with sleepy, exhausted contentment as he raised his head a little to look at him.

Peter didn't ask if he could stay, Nightingale noted with relief. Not that he would have said no. 

Still, they were equals in this. An apprentice he would send to his room, or set him tasks, but this was different. Rank could have no place here. When they came together like this, there was no room for questions of that sort. They were both adults; if this was a mistake, at last it was one they were making together. It was a great relief that Peter did not think him a man who needed to be asked for permission.

“Did you ever learn spells for... this?” Peter asked after a moment, his voice soft, still with a hint of beautiful breathlessness in it. “So many boys at your school, I'm sure someone must have...?”

“Sex magic, Peter? Really?” he asked and raised a brow. Peter gave him a small grin and stretched with shameless, satiated contentment.

“Please, you can’t tell me you never thought about it!”

Nightingale smiled; his hand, he discovered, seemed to wander all by itself from Peter's shoulder up to his cheek, lingering there, learning the shape of his face and his smile and the warmth of his skin all over again. 

Every time he touched him, it felt as if he was one step closer to forgetting the terrible loss and grief that had taken root in the empty space that had been his heart before Ettersberg. Every time he touched him, he knew he took one further step towards a repeat of that loss. 

And yet, Peter and Lesley had shown him the futility of trying to continue without that warmth they had brought to the Folly.

He tried to do his best impression of Seawoll's disgusted glower, but Peter just laughed at him. Then there were gentle fingers – surprisingly talented, as he had found out on numerous occasions – that traced the creases between his brows until he couldn't hold back the smile that always seemed close now, in the presence of Peter. 

He had tried his best to keep it hidden with thoughts of paperwork, or the havoc he was certain Peter's strange experiments would one day cause, but Molly had seen right through it. At least, she had taken up experimentation with molecular cuisine lately, and he doubted that either Peter or Lesley had thought it a good idea to introduce her to such unsettling inventions. Certainly garlic caviar served on olive oil noodles had to be an expression of discontent about the one time Peter had not managed to muffle his groans in the library. Or maybe Molly now indeed used Peter's computer to look up avant-garde cuisine in her free time, although he doubted that. Garlic caviar seemed a rather unmistakable way to express her feelings on the matter.

Peter's fingers smoothed over his forehead, and Nightingale realised that he had once more allowed worries to distract him. He took a deep breath. Some of the tension left him as he pulled Peter closer.

“There's one that is a fourth-order spell. I'll teach you once you reach that level. How is that for a promise?” he said softly, and then couldn't suppress another smile at the way the content, sleepy warmth in Peter's eyes turned into instant delight within a heartbeat.

“I'll hold you to it!” Peter said. “Any hints about what it does? It will only make me work harder.”

“It will only make you impatient, and more eager to try things you aren't yet ready for.” Nightingale made up for Peter's disappointed sigh with a kiss. Then they settled again, Peter’s head on his shoulder, Peter's hand on his chest, fingers curiously tracing a small scar, although he asked no questions. Nightingale was grateful for that.

“Here's something else we were fond of at Cosgrove Hall,” he said after a moment. Peter's eyes turned eager again. Sometimes, he thought there was no end to his curiosity. A good trait in a wizard, and yet – as they said, curiosity killed the cat. One day, Peter's curiosity would lead him into situations he was not yet ready for. There was so much to learn. So much to teach him.

But then, who of them had been ready for Ettersberg?

Quickly, as if to distract himself as much as Peter, he spoke the _formae_ , watched the small ball of light rise above their heads, then suddenly explode into hundreds of tiny points of brightness that sprang into sparkling constellations. He reached out to switch off the light and heard Peter draw in a sudden, awed breath.

Stars gleamed in the darkness above them, pulsed and turned and arrayed themselves into familiar shapes. He breathed quiet contentment against Peter's skin.

“Cassiopeia,” he said quietly, and the constellation grew brighter for a moment. “And there. Orion, the hunter; see his belt and sword.”

Peter's hand rested on his chest, heavy and warm. Above them in the blackness of their room, the stars gleamed. He listed them all, those old companions of his childhood, and Peter listened, until he fell asleep against his chest at last. Nightingale alone remained awake in the darkness, lost in memories. There was no sound but Peter's soft, regular breathing while the stars wheeled slowly overhead. And for the first time in the many decades that had passed after Ettersberg had taken all joy from him, Nightingale's heart was full of the past, and happiness.


End file.
